Memories Of Forgotten Faces
by Inmortalis 77
Summary: 12 year old runaway, Walter "Rorschach" Kovacs, was sent to a boys' home. a "Saving Grace" for the unwanted and unloved, the misfits, mistakes, rejects and worthless bastard children of the people of the city.


+++A.N: So! this is my first Fanfic ever! i hope its not too horrid. this is a rorschach fanfic because he is the coolest superhero ever. its about his childhood (the one that i have made up for him) at a state funded boys home. it is told through the eyes of the vigilante rorschach. he recounts his buried and unwanted memories at this home. read for more details. oh and yes i saw the movie and did NOT read the comic (i know im such a bad fan) so i probably got stuff wrong. Par Example: i know in the book his eyes are brown but in the movie his eyes are blue so in this they are blue. and also this was not thoroughly spelled check or beta read or whatever so sorry if there are typos. my grammar isnt perfect because i have a vendetta against grammar and my english teachers ^_^ so message me if its just horrible and i will fix it! and if i get enough/ any reviews (good or otherwise) then i will upload another chapter. have fun!+++

Chapter 1: So Called "Saviors"

Walter "Rorschach" Kovacs stalked down the darkened, dirty streets of the corrupted city. He felt naked without his "face", the weight of his sign bearing down on his shoulder. The other hand rested in the pocket of his decrepit coat, stroking his "face". He took comfort that it rested there, a clear reminder that Rorschach was hiding just under the disguise that was Walter Kovacs. Insomnia and curiosity had driven Walter from his bloodstain couch, out of his rundown, condemned and cramped apartment and out onto the bloodied corrupted streets. He had always had a sick fascination with the people that made the city such an evil place. Watching people move through their daily lives had become one of his habits when he was not out ridding the streets of filth. Today was no exception; he wanted to observe for a few hours before donning his alter ego and attacking the people he had, hours earlier, passed on the streets.

As he walked down a busy street a group of children filed down the avenue, coming toward him. All the children in the group were male, ranging from ages 6 to 18, a boys' home out on a field trip to the city. There were about 20 kids in the group, laughing and fooling around. At the head of the group was a tall, white male, wearing a priest collar. His once blonde hair had long turned grey and most of it had fallen away. Walter stopped for a moment, memories flashing behind his widened icy blue eyes. Memories he had buried away, memories he made himself forget. He remember the bastard, he had made his so called "saving grace" a living hell. Not that it had been much of a saving grace anyways.

When Walter was 12 he ran away from his mother's one room, dirty, sin stained, hellhole apartment. In truth he had done his mother a favor; she had probably had a celebration in learning of his leaving. Maybe she had had a sale, half off or something of the sort. His freedom had not lasted long; he had been caught 2 weeks later for stealing some food from a vendor at the market. The authorities had opted to send him to the boys' home as opposed to his mother's. A "Saving Grace" for the unwanted and unloved, the misfits, mistakes, rejects, the worthless bastards of the people of the city. There were at least 100 boys at the home, much more than the home was intended for. The home was run by 3 headmasters: Lt. Pace, Father Owens, and Mr. Geoffereys. The tall white man heading the group of children Walter saw was Father Owens. Not that he was an actually priest, he wore the collar to fool people into believing he was a good man, doing God's will and saving the poor lost souls. In reality he was a sick, evil man, mad with power and loved to give good punishment. The switch and the whip were his favorites, although sometimes he would get creative, hitting kids with a bible or a hanging them from his wall by their thumbs. He hurt them in other ways, ways worse than just beating them; he stripped them of their dignity and pride. Those memories hurt worse than any others in Walter's mind, the things he dare not dwell on for to long.

Lt. Pace walked at the back of the group, making sure no children escaped into the stream of people who inhabited the dying city. He was tall as well, 6"5 and stood with perfect posture one only masters in the military. An ex marine, with cold green eyes and a thin, strong face, his hair a pure white, well kept as always. A voice as gruff as Walter's, he could strike fear into a hardened criminal. Walter had always preferred him over the other two masters. He didn't torture like Owens, didn't preach and plead like Geoffereys. He handed out a punishment worthy of the crime, cleaning or cooking, the loss of privileges, and other penalties. Never asking useless questions, he understood that the boys in the home were long gone, beyond saving by man or mystic. Whenever Walter was hauled in for fighting, Pace never chastised him, just asked for the story and awarded him his punishment. Once Walter was jumped by a number of 18 year olds and was beaten badly. When brought into Pace's office, Pace taught him how to protect himself, teaching him techniques Rorschach used to the day.

Immersed in the middle of the group was Geoffereys, a shorter black man with graying hair and lively brown eyes. He was the keeper of the boys, constantly trying to save their lost souls. A friend to all, Geoffereys was a kind man, too kind to be working in a state funded boys' home. Geoffereys was the first man most of the boys were introduced to when they came in. He played protector to the wards, wanting beyond belief to help them. Walter had never trusted him, the amount of kindness this man possessed was something Walter had never seen before. This man radiated kindness, never raising his voice, seemingly not capable of hate no matter what. Geoffereys made a point to connect with all the boys on some level, try to pry into their sheltered and chaotic minds. He had even tried to appeal to the stoic, world wise Walter Kovacs.

"You and I have the same name Walter." Geoffereys exclaimed upon meeting the runaway. The exact runaway who had made a point of not talking to anyone, no matter the circumstances. "My name is Walter Geoffereys and yours is Walter Kovacs!" Geoffereys sounded so amazed by this discovery that Walter thought he might be mentally unstable. "Have you ever met another Walter before? I most certainly haven't!"

None of this made any difference in Walter Kovacs' mind; he still wouldn't talk to anyone. But the man never gave up in trying to relate to the disturbed Kovacs, not in 6 years.

Walter snapped from his delusion and continued down the street, emotionless mask in place. His hand in his pocket itched to don his mask and kill the "Father", spilled the black, bad, sinned blood all over his hands, to cause him an unbelievable amount of agony, to make him pay for his crimes. Resisting the urge he slipped past the sinner, who smiled at him unknowingly. Managing to pass Geoffereys, he continued to wade through the children swarming around him. The amount of people around him, so close to him, brushing his person nearly drove him insane. When he was almost to the end of the group, Geoffereys recognized him, the red hair and blue eyes igniting memories of the stoic little soldier. The black man whirled around and called out to him, hurrying to catch him. Walter continued on, ignoring Geoffereys cries. Once he broke free of the mob of boys, he moved down the street at a good pace, determined to run from his past. Geoffereys called louder, running to him now, a concerned smile plastered on his old face. Pace turned, debating whether to follow or stay with the boys. Excitement rippled through the boys, their voices and questions rising into the din of the city sounds. Pace barked at them to shut up and Owens glared at them, his God loving grin still on his face. Geoffereys got closer to Walter, and once he was close enough he reached for the younger mans arm. Tipping foreword slightly, Geoffereys was able to grab Walter's arm, his grip burning Walter through the coat, to the bone. And with that, Rorschach came out of hiding.


End file.
